Moments Like These
by Linxcat
Summary: There were times when he was sure he hated her..." TyHil, Tyson POV


There were times when he was sure he hated her.

Like when she would grab the front of his shirt, cry out in frustration and fury, and batter him mercilessly with her fists.

Or, worse, when she would snap at him for no reason at all, resorting to violence over a simple misunderstanding; more than once she'd flung various _hard_ objects his way in order to get her point across to him.

And then he would fight back, and they would end up forehead to forehead, screaming back and forth at one another in arguments that seemed to go on for days on end until one of them gave in and dropped their pride for the sake of peace.

And those fights _hurt_, a lot more than the physical ones. As they got closer to one another, these arguments got worse and more frequent, because when you know someone well you know their weaknesses and how to make them crumble. These tactics were deployed, he was ashamed to say, ruthlessly by both sides, and the aftermath of these fights left them both vulnerable and shattered.

Tyson _hates_ those arguments. And he hates her for making him so weak due to them.

Usually, he found her pretty annoying.

Like how she would take boundless joy in waking him up every morning, coming up with a different and more humiliating (or painful) way every time. And every time, as he came to, perhaps sitting in a puddle of ice cold water or gasping after accidentally consuming something particularly spicy, she would beam at him in a way he could only describe as _chipper_, and she would sweetly wish him a good morning.

Good morning? Hah. Not with her around.

And her voice. Oh Gosh. She was always _talking_, either shouting at him or chatting animatedly or criticizing him or cheering him on, but her voice was always going like a broken record in the background; _blah blah blah_! She couldn't seem to just shut up!

And it wasn't like he just didn't listen to her. He did. Well, at the beginning he would. About a minute into a spiel, however, he'd begin to lose focus and instead concentrate on the oddities of her speech pattern; like how she'd emphasise certain words, how she put the stress on the last part of his name (Ty_son_!) when he'd done something stupid and the first part (_Ty_son!) when she was irritated and she thought he wasn't listening to-

Well, it wasn't _his_ fault she was so boring, was it?

And she was always _there_. Literally, wherever he went, it seemed he couldn't escape from her. She hung out with him, she stayed over at his house, she'd even walked in on him in the bathroom once (most embarrassing thing ever, they couldn't make eye contact all week).

When he battled she was there (screaming away, as usual), when he slept she was there (crouching over him with a bucket of water like a cat ready to pounce), when he ate she was there (reprimanding him for his manners, yada yada yada), when he wanted to be alone she was there (asking him continually what was wrong - couldn't a guy just get some privacy??), when his friends left she was there (she stayed)...

Yeah, the point: she was always there.

But Tyson can never quite be sorry that she is.

Mostly, he thought of her as a good friend.

She woke him up every morning, yeah, but it _was_ so that he didn't miss breakfast. Plus that meant her getting up extra early to come over to the dojo in time to be his personal alarm clock. She helped him pack too, made sure he never forgot anything, organised his training schedule, helped him with his schoolwork, she even had a little pocket diary that she would whip out and scribble times for his important meetings in. Sometimes it was a little overwhelming, almost like having a personal secretary, only he didn't pay her and she often physically attacked him.

But there were other things too; the small things. Like how she would cook for him every day, no matter how busy they were and how many other things she had to get done. And her cooking was improving, it really was – her ramen was almost semi-edible now, and she'd just about got the hang of simple fairy cakes, which were pretty tasty, even if the icing was so runny it just dripped off and pooled in the bottom of the cake wrapper. And the rice – actually, no, the rice was foul. Even _Ray_ couldn't eat the rice. But, uh, it was the thought that counted, right?

And she stayed, didn't she? When his team left to become his rivals, she'd stuck by him, not even giving a thought to following the sweeter, more considerate or _cuter_ members. He'd questioned her on this, and she'd given him a big grin, hands on hips, and explained that she hadn't spent all this time training her boys only to have one of them drop out in a depression, besides, who said that he couldn't be sweet or considerate when he put his mind to it? And when he'd pointed out that she missed out cute, she'd giggled, and then hurried off, saying that she needed to "do something".

He hadn't been quite sure what to make of that.

His favourite memory of their friendship, though, was when he won the world championship for the fourth time in a row. He'd hardly had a chance to pump his fist in delight when she'd thrown herself at him, squeezing him so hard he could hardly breathe, but he was breathless and giddy from exhilaration anyway so he hardly noticed, sweeping her up in his arms and swinging her around. When he planted her feet back on the ground, they both paused, drinking in the moment and grinning stupidly at each other, so close their noses were practically touching, and he could _feel_ the adrenaline still flooding through his veins, and –

- And that was when the others arrived, shouting and clapping him on the back and clasping his hands. She laughed at him, shaking her head and he beamed in silent victory.

Yes, she is a _very _good friend, and Tyson realises that perhaps he should appreciate her more.

Sometimes...sometimes he thought she was pretty hot.

Yeah, ok, whatever. He was a red-blooded male, was he not? It was perfectly normal for a guy of his age to notice such things. Max thought she was cute, in a purely platonic way; Ray had acknowledged her attractiveness several times but had his eyes on someone else; Kenny just blushed and stuttered and Kai...well Kai was Kai. Who knew what was going on in that guy's head?

It was her fault anyway, her and her little _short shorts_. Why on earth would she wear them if she didn't want...uh..._attention_? And she wore that miniskirt too, and that tiny top that showed her stomach. Heck, he didn't think he'd ever seen her in an outfit that actually covered her legs.

Not that he was complaining, of course.

There was one time, one summer, during a heat wave, when Hiro decided to pop out for a bit of grocery shopping. He'd insisted that they be ready to train when he got back, despite the torturous heat that had them all sprawled around the garden in exhaustion, _or else_.

The moment he left, Daichi sprung to his feet and declared that he, for one, was _not_ going to train this afternoon and die from the heat, because it was perfect beach weather. Tyson agreed heartily with him and, surprisingly, Hilary too. Poor Kenny, who was a little afraid of Hiro and took his threats seriously, was outnumbered and nervously went to fetch his swimming gear.

Five minutes later the three boys were kitted up for the beach and assembled in the garden, waiting for Hilary, anxious that Hiro would appear at any moment and that they would get forced to _train_ all afternoon. It was another fifteen agonising minutes before Hilary emerged and...well...the wait was certainly worth it; sure, he'd seen her a in a swimsuit before, but that was when they were thirteen – now she was sixteen-going-on-seventeen and, quite frankly, she'd _blossomed_.

He'd tried not to stare, he really had, but when she waltzed out – distinctly more curvaceous than he remembered when she was fully clothed – in a teeney-weeney white and pink bikini (she mentioned later that Mariah had helped her choose it, which explained a lot – pink and curves and boobs and all, since the girl was practically an expert at emphasising them, much to Ray's delight – but, uh, he digressed) and one of those skirt-sarong things tied neatly around her waist, he was completely speechless, blinking at her in utter surprise.

She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth turning up in a – was that triumphant? – smirk as she surveyed him blushing and mumbling, and Kenny, who was tomato-red and hiding behind Dizzi, before rolling her eyes at Daichi, who promptly rolled his back and used Tyson's momentary immobility to steal his hat.

A strange thought occurred to him as he chased the pint-sized 'blader down the path to the beach; Hilary...Hilary was a _girl_. And it was a little alarming to discover how much that simple fact pleased him.

From that day onwards, Tyson makes a habit of noticing her subtle girly features and finds he quite enjoys it, actually.

It's in moments like these.

When she startles him with her femininity, uncharacteristically flaunting the body that he never even noticed she had, grabbing his attention in a way that neither food nor beyblading could ever, he realises.

When she hugs him so tightly and takes his breath away, all in sheer delight of _his_ victory, her voice hoarse from screaming as she gasps that she's so _so_ proud of him, he realises.

When she follows him around all evening after they leave, asking him if he's alright and pleading with him to talk to her or _someone_, and he shouts at her but she does not leave until he stops sobbing into her shoulder, he realises.

When they're forehead to forehead, fists balled and screaming furiously at each other, and she grabs him by the shoulders to shake him and he notices the tears that are streaming down her cheeks, glinting in the moonlight, he realises.

In moments like these, Tyson knows he loves her.


End file.
